


Threadfinder Threadwinder

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (sort of), Cats, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Harry's job is to travel through the time stream, helping people that have gotten stuck and correcting problems that might have occurred in it. In reality, he spends a lot of his time finding stray cats who are jumping through time and dragging them back to their real time.Then, one day, he finds someone else in the timestream.





	Threadfinder Threadwinder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizamackenzie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizamackenzie/gifts).



Harry is chasing a thread.

It’s a blue thread - light blue, shimmery like a babbling brook reflecting in the starlight. It’s been winding through century after century and Harry’s spent all day trying to get to the end of it.

Time travel is a tricky business, although Harry and his colleagues have gotten it down to a science, more or less. Back in the beginning of the twentieth century, when time travel was more theory than fact, people would constantly get lost in the time stream, tossed about in the winds of change and thrown into whatever year they ended up running by. It was a mess, and resulted in a lot of cleanup that had to be done later getting them all back. It’s a tricky business, something that could make a whole lot of mess if too many people tried to get in at once.

Just anybody jumping into and out of the time stream could end up in fast disaster, most people could recognise that the second they properly thought through it. In the end, it became the most closely guarded open secret in the scientific community, the sort of thing you hear rumours about in university and assume it’s not true, until you happen to be finishing your degree in particle physics, and suddenly you find yourself on the fast track through the slip stream, and end up in 1834 with your least favourite professor - who insists he’s not going to let you back into your own time stream until you sign an NDA.

Harry still thinks Simon can choke, what kind of an asshole move? And he plays it on  _ all _ the students who make it into the program, instead of simply sitting them down and explaining like a  _ normal human being… _

But Harry digresses. 

It’s been four years since his program first indoctrinated him into the time traveler league, and while he keeps his distance from Simon, for obvious reasons, the job as a whole is the best thing he’s ever been given.

His goal is to resolve time stream issues. Everyone and everything has a thread, woven through the time stream, curling in a circle pattern and intersecting with the threads of everything and everyone else that it passes. What starts to make the time stream wonky, however, is when a thread gets caught somewhere, causing a rift, or whatever it’s attached to ends up moving through time at the wrong pace - too fast or too slow - and creating issues for everything around it. It’s why time travelers have to live in their own time, because otherwise they’re going to end up threading themselves into everything and getting stuck in a time and place that isn’t their own.

Most of the time, it’s just cats.

All these years later, people still aren’t sure why it is cats are able to jump through the time stream at will (or even if it’s on  _ purpose), _ but honestly it’s a good thing he isn’t allergic because he spends most of his days nabbing cats from all different time periods and bringing them back to where they’re  _ supposed _ to be, so that he can tie their threads in place and hope it’ll at least take a few days before they manage to untie them and timejump again.

This morning when he got to work, he was handed the end of a buttery orange thread that took him about ten minutes to get to the end of, making his way through the stream until he hit 1948, the thread disappearing through the wall in the timestream and Harry following, finding himself in a little back garden rampant with rabbits and one big, fat marmalade cat lazing about on a stoop and sunning himself. Harry had rolled his eyes, hoisted the beastie into his arms and stepped sideways back into the stream, ignoring the creature’s creative curses, and followed its thread back the other way to where it ended in 1996.

Harry had stepped out onto the other side, this time standing in front of a little blue house surrounded by overgrown bushes and a single baby tree planted in the front yard. The cat had seemed in no hurry to be deposited here, but Harry had barely been standing a moment before a young girl had burst through the front door and made a beeline for him, yelling about  _ Snickers, you’re home! _ And holding out chubby little fingers for the cat to be deposited into.

Snickers, as he was apparently named, let out another mutinous growl under his breath but when Harry carefully handed him over, the cat made no attempt to escape or fight back. The way the young girl squealed, Harry figured Snickers had maybe just wanted a bit of a break.

He had come back to the office - a little place above an ice cream shop in Surrey - only to add another tally to the  _ Found Cat _ side of the leaderboard. It’s always well outnumbered the  _ Actual Problem _ side.

That’s when he’d been handed the end of the blue thread. 

Generally threads only take about an hour to resolve, give or take. Even the ones where a human seems to have gotten themselves tangled up and stuck in a certain time, forced to relive the same day or hour or minute over and over again, the longest part tends to be just trying to explain to them who you are (or, easier, lying and saying it’s a nightmare), and sending them on their way. If a threadfinding lasts all day, it’s generally chalked up to a newbie who gets lost and has to keep retracing their steps.

So today has been weird. Because ever since dropping off Snickers, he’s been following the same thread for  _ hours. _ It’s looped through various timelines and had little stuck points that he’d had to untangle in various centuries. Harry’s never had one like this.

When his watch tells him it’s almost noon, he decides to take a break. Whatever’s on the other side of this thread, he’s going to have to spend just as much time winding it back up as he’s spent following it, which means this could easily take the rest of the day.

He’s just hit 1712 in the stream, much farther back than he normally has to go, and as he steps sideways out of it he tries to remind himself what was happening at this time. Powdered wigs were definitely in fashion, but he can pass with his lengthy curls for an hour or two. England was probably at war with France, if only because throw a dart at any day in history and England was probably at war with France. Queen Anne was in place, if he remembers correctly (and his mum always likes to make sure he remembers this particular monarch).

He steps out onto a busy street and finds himself right in front of a building titled  _ Button’s Coffeehouse. _ Coffee shops! Those have around so much longer than most people would think, and Harry’s thankful, because a bit of coffee might be just what he needs to get through the rest of this threadfinding.

When he opens the door to make his way inside, he’s hit with a wall of sound. The sheer volume of people fit into this coffeehouse is  _ enormous, _ and certainly a fire hazard. The amount of large men with powdered wigs and stiflingly hot looking waistcoats on, all yelling to one another loud enough to drown out a football match, almost makes Harry rethink his decision, but he can smell the coffee and cooking meat and his stomach growls.

He makes his way in and is immediately accosted by a boy holding a cup of coffee in one hand, and holding the other out to Harry. “One penny,” he yells to be heard over the din.

Harry fishes in his pockets and comes up with his wallet. It’s got a few coins from the latest four centuries, and he’s lucky enough to locate a six pence piece, handing it over and motioning for the boy to keep the change.

The boy gives him wide eyes and he hands over Harry’s coffee and Harry double pats his pocket, knowing that now he’s going to have to watch himself lest he ends up pickpocketed.

Holding the cup of coffee in both hands he makes his way around the tables, looking for a spot to sit. Coffeehouses in the early eighteenth century were places of conversation, where people would go specifically to catch up on the news and debate topics, so there’s no individual seating, you pick a table and join whatever conversation happens to be going on. 

Near the end of one of the long tables, Harry spies a single other head of brown hair among the white wigs. As he approaches, at first he assumes it’s just someone’s apprentice who’s been brought along to observe, but then he gets close enough to see that whoever they are, they’re wearing a black tee-shirt.

That’s not a normal eighteenth century sort of outfit.

He’s sitting with his back to Harry, but there’s a free space on the bench next to him, and Harry’s curiosity gets the best of him. No one should be this far back in history without a license and permit, and Harry doesn’t recognize this guy at all.

As he takes a seat, he becomes aware of the man in the tee-shirt telling a story that has everyone else at the table entranced.

“And  _ then _ \- the absolute tosser grabs my horse and makes a run for it! Can you believe that?”

The table, eight or nine large men in tailored suits and long, decadent wigs, erupt into raucous laughter, leaving the storyteller looking very proud of himself. He hasn’t noticed Harry sitting down next to him yet, though, so Harry leans over and whispers into his ear;

“I didn’t hear the beginning. Care to share?”

The man jumps back. “Fuck, mate, don’t-” then takes in Harry’s appearance. His long brown curls and his flower patterned shirt. “Oh shit.”

Harry grins, looking forward to an interesting conversation about why this guy is in the wrong century  _ illegally _ when… he takes off.

Full on, stumbling across the bench and taking off across the floor of the coffeehouse headed towards the door. Harry thinks mournfully of the stew and lamb on the plates around him, but then thinks about how this is the most interesting thing to happen while he’s traveling in… ever. He’s never met another traveler while in another century. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up, so he jumps (stumbles) over the bench himself before following him out toward the door.

He’s just in time to see the man slip sideways into the timestream out in the yard (where  _ anyone _ could see him! This is how witch hunts are started!), and follows suit, none too gracefully.

When he emerges in the time stream, he’s a little disoriented (which makes sense, it’s hard to tell up from down on a good day), but manages to catch sight first of the blue thread he’s been following all morning, and second the man he’s following. They lead in the same direction, and Harry follows suit, curling one hand loosely around the blue thread so that he can keep hold of it and keeping his eyes fixed on the receding figure (because damn, he’s a fast runner and much more coordinated in an ever moving stream than Harry has ever managed to be).

It’s easy to find yourself slipping out of the timestream and into whatever century you’re running by if you’re in a hurry. Like a mouse scampering over records in a music store, liable to fall into the cracks if they miss a step. Harry’s already not the most coordinated of people, but this is testing his abilities. He’s so focused on where he puts his feet that he almost doesn’t notice when the man in front of him slips sideways, disappearing from sight. Harry’s not even sure what century they’re in at this point, and he’s pretty sure they’ve shifted location a little, but it’s all he can do to try to concentrate on where the man disappeared so that he can end up in relatively the same time and place.

He jumps out of the stream with a  _ whoosh _ and stumbles to his knees (there go his new jeans) in a grassy field.

He looks up, hoping that the mystery man is close by but instead his gaze is drawn instead to an absolutely mammoth glass building in front of him, stretching at least three storeys into the air and probably ten times as wide as it is tall. It’s  _ beautiful _ and entirely see-through, reflecting and glimmering in the sunlight.

It’s almost as an afterthought that Harry notices the crowds of people swarming by in front of him and into the glass building, men in tailed waistcoats and women with gowns that clearly have upwards of three layers underneath them, ballooning out around them and probably making narrow doorways a hazard.

He wracks his brain. Nineteenth century? He hadn’t much noticed when he was running through the stream where he was headed, but if he had to hazard a guess he’d say Victorian Era.

As always, he finds himself rather underdressed but he’s learned that if he just acts like he belongs people don’t often question it.

He gets up, dusting his knees off and moves toward the crowd, looking for the one other odd person out and hoping he didn’t end up in the completely wrong time. The people milling around outside the building don’t seem to be in any hurry so it’s pretty easy to duck and weave between them. The man was a bit on the short side if Harry’s remembering correctly, and dressed all in black which would be a bit of a contrast to the colourful outfits around him.

It would help if he knew  _ why _ the mystery man is here. Why is he traveling through time at all, and why these particular eras? 

He’s just considering giving up as he reaches the front steps to the building and suddenly an argument breaks out next to him. He turns and can’t help but grin because  _ ah. There he is. _

And then the grin slides off his face because  _ oh shit, there he is! _

It looks like he must have bumped into someone, because there’s two very angry looking people around him, one of them a woman in a large maroon dress who’s thunderous face looks rather like a toddler gearing up for a tantrum. The other is a man dressed in a suit just as nice, who has one hand wrapped around mystery man’s wrist as he yells and gesticulates wildly with the other hand. Harry doesn’t catch most of what he’s saying but the gist of it seems to be that mystery man bumped into the woman and the man would very much like an apology.

Mystery man is having none of it. He’s clearly trying to tug out of the man’s grip, stubbornly keeping his mouth shut.

Thinking this is a good time to intervene, Harry runs over as well. “Hey!” he calls, trying to get their attention.

The man in the suit looks up. “This buffoon is with you?” he asks, tugging mystery man’s arm up.

_ Buffoon. _ Harry stifles a laugh.

“Yes, sorry he doesn’t speak much English,” Harry says, hoping the stranger hasn’t already disproved his lie.

“He practically barrelled over my wife, made a right spectacle!” the man says. “I demand an apology! To make such a scene on a day like this!”

Harry doesn’t think now is the time to point out that the scene wasn’t nearly such a “spectacle” until this man started yelling. It might not help his case.

“Of course,” Harry says. “He is deeply sorry, I can assure you.” He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act like the man is ‘deeply sorry’ without giving away that he clearly speaks English and, as a last ditch attempt, he turns to the mystery man and pretends to translate. “J'ai mangé trois pommes.”

(Harry was never very good at French class).

Clearly mystery man knows a bit more French than he does because makes a face that looks like he’s trying to telepathically say that Harry’s an absolute idiot, and then rattles off a few sentences in French that Harry has no hope of understanding.

“He, um, he says it was never his intention to cause a scene,” Harry says and tries to look remorseful on behalf of the stranger, who doesn’t look it in the slightest. It’s apparently enough for the offended man, though, because he lets go of the stranger’s arm and mutters something about  _ people these days. _

This is Harry’s chance, now that mystery man is clearly in his debt. He turns to him in the hopes of finally getting his questions answered only to realise that mystery man is walking away towards the glass building at a fast clip.

“Wait!” Harry calls, trying to look casual as he all but runs after the man (he’s small but  _ quick). _

“No!” the man calls back, and he sounds so petulant Harry would laugh. Except he’s now jogging up a number of steps and he’s not exactly in shape at the moment.

“You owe me!” Harry calls when he’s up the steps, panting.

“I really don’t!”

When Harry steps through the doors of the building, he finds it’s just as magnificent on the inside as it is on the outside, glass walls and ceilings letting in enough light he could still be outside. There are people streaming everywhere and he’d enjoy the view a bit more except he’s intent on not losing the man in front of him this time. 

They weave through the crowd for a while, Harry running into several people in his attempt to keep close on the man’s heels. He’s going to have to look this place up in the history books when he gets home, it’s incredible.

It’s when he’s chased the man to the second floor that he finally gets the chance to catch him. There’s a big crowd gathered here watching some performance that’s going on, and it’s packed enough that Harry’s finally able to catch up, looping one hand around the man’s wrist in an attempt at keeping him from getting away again.

“Come on,” Harry says, getting close to his ear to keep from having to shout over everything. “At least tell me your name? How you got here? How’d you even learn to time travel?”

The man turns, and Harry takes a second to admire some very blue eyes.

“Louis,” he says. “And didn’t anyone ever tell you not to throw stones in glass houses?”

Then he steps sideways, into the timestream.

Only this time, Harry’s still got a grip on his wrist, and he finds himself  slipping into the timestream behind him. It’s incredibly disorienting, following someone else into the stream and Harry ends up letting go as he tries to steady himself. He takes a look around and finds first the blue thread he was following earlier, and second the man -  _ Louis _ \- walking ahead of him. Conveniently - because he really should be doing his job - Louis and the thread are headed in the same direction.

“Wait, Louis!” Harry calls, feeling like he’s going to be sore all over tomorrow from the amount of running he’s been doing.

“Go home!” Louis yells back. “Just go follow some strings like you people always do!”

_ “My people _ \- what, who are my people?” Harry yells. “And how would you know?”

“You’re annoying!” Louis calls. “You don’t own the timestream!”

Then he’s jumping down and Harry has no choice but to follow him, too wrapped up in Louis to really be paying attention to anything else at this point.

The street he finds himself landing in is practically modern, and Harry wonders for a moment if he’s back in his own time. The first thing that alerts him to the fact that he’s still somewhere in the past is that a woman comes walking down the road wearing a necklace with a very large, very yellow smiley face pendant on it.

Probably the mid-1960’s, if Harry could hazard a guess.

He looks around and spots Louis again - he’s getting better at this! - heading around the back of the row of houses that resides on one side of the street. Quickly, Harry gets up off the ground and dusts off his knees again (there’s holes in his jeans now, it’s official) and makes to run after him.

When he rounds the corner, he sees a row of well-manicured gardens with low fences surrounding them. Three gardens away, he spots Louis bending down just behind a row of bushes.

Thinking he’s trying to hide again, Harry makes his way around the backs of the gardens, his feet making swishing noises through the taller grass. Everything is lush and beautifully green here, reminding him of late spring or early summer. 

When he opens the back gate of the garden that Louis’s in (because he’s not rude enough to simply jump the fence), he finally gets a clear look at him and realises that Louis isn’t alone.

There’s a girl there with him, a shock of silver hair that runs over her shoulders, and an outfit that Harry is  _ pretty sure _ means she’s from current day as well; a neutral pink crop top and adidas joggers.

They’re both sitting in the grass and when Harry approaches Louis looks up with a glare. “Do you mind?”

“Um, yes, I do?” Harry says, his voice going high and squeaky. “There’s  _ more _ of you?”

“This is my sister,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “And I would have been here a good twenty minutes ago to pick her up if you hadn’t insisted on being so distracting.” He stands, and holds out his hand to help the girl up too. She takes it and hoists herself up, leaning on Louis when she stands. It’s pretty obvious that she’s favouring one leg.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Harry asks, motioning. “Because this is just another reason why people shouldn’t be running through the timestream on their own with no training, it’s not easy-”

“Oh hush Curly,” Louis cuts him off. “She’s been doing this for years. Everyone in my family has. One sprained ankle does not a disaster make.”

Harry gapes at him. “Your whole family?” he asks. “But - how have we never run into you before?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Just because  _ you _ haven’t doesn’t mean no one else has. But we’re good at getting around, you know. It’s ridiculous that you lot think that you can ‘control’ the timestream or whatever, some of us have been doing this for generations!”

“But what about your threads - wait, is she the blue thread I’ve been chasing all day?”

The girl speaks up for the first time, her voice a bit deeper than Harry expected. “Louis’s an overprotective arse of a brother and he insists I’m not allowed to cut my string yet so that he can still find me if he needs to,” she says.  _ “Most _ people don’t still have one, that’d be ridiculous.”

Harry doesn’t think he’s able to process this information. They don’t… have threads anymore? His own has been marking his trail all day, it’s why he has to retrace his steps to get home at the end of his trip, to wind up his thread again so that it’s not stretched over centuries. “But… that shouldn’t be possible,” he protests weakly. “It’s attached to you! That’d be like cutting off a leg!”

Louis shrugs, but he looks sort of proud of himself. “It hurts a bit yeah,” he says. “But it means your lot doesn’t follow us around everywhere, so it’s worth it. You’re all too nosy for your own good.”

Harry pouts. “All we’re doing is making sure people don’t get their threads caught places! That’s how ghosts are created! Being stuck in one time and place!”

“Sure, but then you insist on unraveling their threads instead of simply cutting them! It’s like being given a can of Irn Bru and sticking a knife in the side to open it instead of just popping open the top. Ridiculous.”

“Um, not to interrupt your little banter sesh going on here,” the girl says, “But my ankle hurts like a motherfuck, and I’d very much like to put some ice on it.”

“Sorry Lotts,” Louis puts one arm around her back and helps her to hobble forward. “Listen. Harry. If you want to learn more about  _ real _ time jumping, not whatever they teach you in that ridiculous program, you’ve got my number.”

“I- I do?” Harry asks, pulling out his phone. “No I don’t!”

“Yes you do, check your other pocket,” Louis says. 

Harry does so, pulling out a scrap of paper with a number scribbled on it. “When did you - and how do you even know my name?”

“Time travel is a confusing thing, isn’t it?” Louis says, and there’s a glint in his eye. “I’d say you’re from, what, 2016? I’m heading back to 2019. We’ve known each other quite a while now.”

With that, both him and his sister are gone. This time, Harry doesn’t follow. He’s too dazed, trying to process Louis’s words. Three years in the future…

Will Louis even know who he is if he texts when he gets home?

He really wants to find out.


End file.
